


Long Live the King

by NevillesGran



Series: Storm King AU [2]
Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Assassination, Canon-Typical Graphic, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Violence, Wasps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 20:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4578399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NevillesGran/pseuds/NevillesGran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The success of the plan depended upon two things: timing, and the fact that Klaus Wulfenbach fought with a sword.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Live the King

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for saying I wasn't going to write this because then I figured out it should be from Tarvek's perspective and now I regret…many things.

The success of the plan depended upon two things: timing, and the fact that Klaus Wulfenbach fought with a sword. Most Sparks did not; they used death rays or clank armor or, better yet, commanded their troops from the rear and avoided combat altogether themselves. Wulfenbach did that as well, when strategy demanded, but he was more known for rushing into the fray at the head of his armies, longsword flashing. Many in the Fifty Families regarded it as just another example of Wulfenbach’s refusal to do things _properly_ , but Tarvek had always rather appreciated the quirk. At least Wulfenbach _committed_ to his actions, engaged and risked himself personally rather than pulling strings from miles away. It was one of the few things Tarvek could bring himself to almost like about the man.

But he didn’t work the same way.

Violetta wouldn’t have believed him if he told her that he really hadn’t planned to call on her again once she was safe in Mechanicsburg, so he didn’t bother making excuses, just sent her encrypted instructions and vial of his newly developed half-poison. Nobody questioned that the Burgmeister’s secretary shot the Storm King a particularly dark stare as she poured coffee for the table. Most Mechanicsburgers disliked his return even more than they mistrusted the Wulfenbachs.

That was what the Baron and the Storm King presumptive were there to discuss: how Mechanicsburg would fit into the new political landscape of Europa as dominated not just by the Wulfenbach Empire but the Lightning Throne as well. _Instead_ , in fact, though only Tarvek knew his own plans for that. After the coronation next month…

About forty-five tedious minutes after Violetta served coffee, a Wulfenbach soldier ran in to report that Geisterdamen had been spotted in the city of Fallsen in the mountains to the west. Over fifty of them, with hive engines. Essentially, all that was left.

Perhaps it wasn’t a matter of timing so much as velocity, because distance was a key factor as well, and force of arms. That is, Castle Wulfenbach and the auxiliary fleet were floating forty leagues away in the opposite direction from Fallsen, and would take twice as long to get there as anyone who left Mechanicsburg right now. Tarvek and the Baron were not accompanied by a particularly large guard, about half a regiment’s worth of mostly humans, but it could be enough to hold the Geisterdamen in until the rest of the fleet arrived. Tarvek played devil’s advocate for caution but the choice was obvious. They had to attack before the Geisterdamen slipped away again.

That balance had been more difficult to arrange. Of course, Tarvek had an ace in the hole for controlling Wulfenbach forces when the Baron wasn’t around, but he…preferred not to use Gil for this. It _would_ raise questions if reinforcements were mysteriously delayed, or something more obvious, and it was so much neater if everything just seemed to happen naturally. (And, in the sentimental part of his mind that Tarvek did his best to quash, it seemed like a particular Line to Cross to have Gil participate, however indirectly, in his own father’s assassination. No, this was manipulation the old-fashioned way.)

Coming to Mechanicsburg without the whole Castle had been a simple enough choice; they weren’t expecting trouble, and there was still Revenant Cure to be distributed in the previous sector. Gil had stayed behind to manage it. On the other side, there were still a couple members of the Knights of Jove who followed the “Goddess”, or at least who the Geisterdamen believed to do so. A few words in the right ears and Fallsen it was.

It wasn’t a large city, barely more than 2,000 inhabitants ruled by a minor spark. The draw, for the Gesiterdamen, were the caverns and tunnels connected to the massive underground waterfall that was the lifeblood of the town.

“We’ll need people here, here and here,” said Tarvek, pointing to tunnels on the map spread out in their makeshift zeppelin war room. The map was old, dating back to the Bad Old Days when Mechanicsburg used to regularly raid Fallsen, but it showed more tunnels than one of the newer maps produced for tourists visiting the Falls. “We have enough weaponry to crash the other, less accessible ones, but if they get out past these it won’t matter.”

The Baron nodded at him from across the table. They were joined by Captains Mercruft and Heimlin, commanding the Baron’s handful of zeppelins and musketeers and Tarvek’s visible royal bodyguard respectively, as well as a corporal each. There was also a Smoke Knight in the corner, the _in_ visible bodyguard, but Mauva wasn’t part of the planning.

“Captain Heimlin, take the southwest passage,” ordered the Baron, never mind the fact that Heimlin was Tarvek’s man. “Mercruft, north with the beta, rho, and sigma squads. I’ll take gamma and zeta to the south entrance. Sturmvoraus…” Their eyes met, and Tarvek clenched his teeth against the vague impression of being found wanting. “Coordinate movements from the air and shoot anything that tries to leave town.”

“Yes, obviously.” The air was where he wanted to be anyway, commanding the field from above.

“Herr Baron, sirs, we’re almost in position!” the pilot cried from the bow. “Where are we dropping?”

The Baron nodded the Mercruft, who strode forward to take over the radio. “Zimmy and Gargoyle south,” she instructed, one finger tapping the oversized baton at her belt. “Bunny, Rob, and Suicide north. See the rock…”

Everything went perfectly for the first seventeen minutes. The zeppelins dropped in perfect formation and the soldiers wired down to their stations, the Baron included. The other two tunnels, which led into the mountains without any convenient surface entrances, the zeppelins simply bombed from midair until the ground collapsed. As anticipated, it used up most of their collective large ammunition, but scans showed the tunnels well and truly blocked.

By then the Geisterdamen certainly knew they were under attack. They had four hive engines left and Tarvek anticipated they would open one, perhaps two in order to cover an attempted escape with the others. While the Baron and infantry held the tunnels, he kept their small fleet of zeppelins (five, really) steadily circling the town, scanners and plain eyes out for any Geisters sneaking out of odd sewers to escape overland. Fortunately, most of the citizens of Fallsen took the cue from the explosions in the tunnels and barricaded themselves indoors.

The radio crackled. “Airship Gamma to Command. We’ve got a hive engine on the eastern side of town, just came out at the 30º mark. There are six Geisters pulling it and half a dozen children sitting on it. Just kids, not fighting or trying to run.”

Tarvek moved a marker on the map. “They must be revenants.” And none of the townspeople stopped them because they were children. “Rho, converge with Gamma to blow the hive. Overheat engines if necessary.”

“Sir?” The radio technician stared at him with wide eyes, finger still on the receiving lever. “Er, highness? Even with the kids?”

“They’re immaterial,” Tarvek began to snap, and stopped himself just before he got the words out. The _Baron_ could consign children to death for the sake of destroying a hive engine, but not the Storm King Returned, Savior of Europa. Who’s brilliant idea had this “heroic” persona been? Right.

“No,” he said instead. “Countermand that, airman. Tell Gamma to follow the engine with shots on the Geisters if they can. Airship Rho drop back to trade places with Control, coming in for an extraction.” He made a couple discreet hand signals towards the corner and Mauva dropped her stealth just enough to be sure he saw her salute understanding of the new plan. “I hope we have more landing cables.”

The hive engine had lost four of its Geisterdamen guards by the time they arrived, and so stopped moving just outside the city limits. Tarvek landed lightly in front of the ghost-woman at the front of the engine. She wore full armor and a particularly spiky circlet on her brow.

He bowed without taking his eyes off her sword hand. “Lady Vrin. So delightful to see you again.”

“Traitor,” snarled the high priestess, and lunged at him.

“Really,” he chided as he dodged her swing, adjusting his glasses with an air of supreme unconcern. “Is that how you greet an old ally-cum-enemy? My father served you people faithfully for years.”

Behind her, Mauva knocked out one of the children and whisked him up the spare, nearly invisible cable to the zeppelin overhead. Classic two-person distraction and sleight-of-hand ploy. She would already have knifed the other Geisterdamen, on the other side of the engine.

“Until you betrayed him to your Baron for a petty throne,” Vrin hissed, and attacked again. Mauva retrieved another child. Tarvek sidestepped the strike but didn’t attempt a riposte.

“He’s not _my_ Baron.” Though the next would be, very much so, and even after nearly two months Tarvek wasn’t…certain how best to manage that.

Mauva was nearly visible to the untrained eye as she rounded the engine for the third child. Tsk. He should have brought Violetta after all.

Fortunately, Vrin seemed content to continue grandstanding.

“The Goddess will repay you tenfold for your crimes!” she cried. “And I am happy to begin early, in Her name.”

That thrust actually nicked his shoulder. Ugh, the blood would ruin his doublet. He drew a dagger to block her next blow, and devoted his whole attention to the fight. He’d almost forgotten how god-damn fast the Geisterdamen were. Mauva had better get a move on.

“Your goddess is dead, and so is her plot. It’s _over_ , Lady Vrin.”

Vrin snarled something in her language and attacked in earnest. “ _Die_.”

Sword and dagger clashed once, twice, three times. Tarvek ducked a swipe at his head and skipped out of her reach again, drawing her away from the hive engine. “No wonder Lucrezia tried to annex the Smoke Knights, if you are the best her ‘priestesses’ had to offer!”

Vrin’s bared teeth were not a smile. “Even my lowest sister could have managed the girl you sent to retrieve those sacrifices,” she said, pointing back to children remaining on the engine.

Tarvek’s stomach plummeted. There were still four of them, sliding to the ground under the direction of the last Geister warrior. She was bleeding silver onto a familiar purple cloak wrapped as bandage around her waist. Mauva was nowhere in sight.

But what really caught his attention was the cracking glass of the hive engine, and the warrior wasps already unfolding like impossibly numerous origami from the queen’s globulous coils.

 _Now_ Lady Vrin grinned, with an edge like Moldovian barbed wire brush. “You see, ‘your majesty’? If we are finished, then _so are you_.” And she whipped her sword back quickly enough to elude even the eye of one trained in the way of the Smoke, and flung it directly at the zeppelin overhead.

Wulfenbach airships were coated with a special paint to make them impermeable to almost everything, but Tarvek had never figured out how the Geisterdamen forged their strange, pale sword and the Sigma-now-Command ship was barely fifteen feet overhead. It didn’t stand a chance.

Tarvek ignored the wheezing, plummeting airship in favor of leaving Vrin with a poisoned dart in her chest and running like hell. But it was too late—the wasps were already upon him.

The only thing he could put at his back was the hive engine itself, so he made for that. Mere meters away, it was nearly impossible. Smoke Knight training was for one-on-one confrontations in dark rooms, not melees of chitin armor and scything claws on every side. Worse, Lucrezia had already been working with the Order when she invented her monsters, and they saw instinctively through most of Tarvek’s evasions. He had developed a few tricks of his own over the years, but they weren’t enough, even with the zapper pistol he’d reverse-engineered from Vespiary Squad guns.

He got his back to the unopened side of the hive machine and lay about himself desperately, trading shallow cuts for shots at any bug that stayed still for more than half a second. At least, they felt shallow. It was hard to tell with adrenaline racing through him as strongly as the spark ever had. What a _stupid_ way to die. This had better be happening in the tunnels as well or the day would be utterly _worthless_. Or was it better to have Klaus Wulfenbach in his oversized balloon than Tweedle on the Lightning Throne? Moot point: Gil could take Tweedle with half his brain chopped out. Tarvek had chosen the right horse _there_.

A wasp got through his guard and went for his neck and it was typical, Tarvek guessed, that his last coherent thought would be insulting his relatives. Screw them all. Gil could _have_ the damn—

The wasp’s head disappeared in a spray of bright green blood. It splattered on Tarvek’s gaping face and battle-tattered waistcoat, and on Baron Wulfenbach, who had just appeared in front of him and decapitated the wasp with one sweep of his sword.

It was clearly not the first thing Wulfenbach had killed today. He had a smoking death ray in his other hand, and his once pristine uniform was covered in green wasp and white Geisterdamen blood, as well as a fair amount of his own bright red. There was a particularly bad cut down his right side.

“This is a **_terrible_** _tactical position!_ ” he shouted. “Are you all right?”

“How are you _here?_ ” Tarvek demanded, meaning something between “physically here” and “still alive.” He _shouldn’t_ be, with all that blood and Tarvek’s toxicant in his system. Damn it, why couldn’t this man _die?_

Not, admittedly, that Tarvek should perhaps be complaining at _exactly_ this moment.

Breathing heavily, Baron set his back against the wasp engine alongside Tarvek’s and gave something like a fey smile. But his eyes were dark. “Ran. The Geisterdamen opened all three remaining engines. They seem determined to take us out with them, if this is their last chance.” A handful of men and women in Wulfenbach uniform surrounded them, what remained of Squads Gamma and Zeta. The Baron held a hand to his bloody ribs. “They have a good shot.”

Damn it. Damn it, burn it, and _slag it_ , Tarvek hadn’t calculated on this much of a fight. He hadn’t planned to be in it _himself_.

“We need to get to the ship,” he said, jerking his thumb at the crashed zeppelin not thirty meters to their right. With his other hand he leveled his zapper and blew a hole in the wasp who had just sliced the arm off one of their remaining soldiers. The zeppelin crew was just as besieged as where Tarvek and the Baron were now, but at least the bugs were shying away from the half the ship that was on fire.

The woman cried in pain and fell back, only to be skewered on the claw of another wasp. The Baron got this one, then waved his death ray in a weary _go on_ gesture.

Tarvek raised his voice. “Circle up! Make for the ship!” He took the dead woman’s place, shooting another three bugs as he moved. They retreated, armor smoking, but didn’t go down.

The group started moving forward. The Baron nearly stumbled over a fallen wasp and, without thinking, Tarvek lunged across him to take out a bug that would have gotten sliced a chunk out of his back. The reaction was starting to kick in: good. Except Tarvek thought he might _need_ him functional now, if only for _back-up_.

“Good one,” said the Baron, and Tarvek squashed a flutter of something like pride at the compliment. Or maybe it was guilt. Wulfenbachs kept making him feel odd mixtures of the two, recently.

It was worse than before, wasps pouring out of both the engine behind them and the streets of Fallsen. Tarvek wondered if Mercruft and Heimlin and their teams were still alive somewhere. If so, they were on their own.

And relying on other people to watch his back was even more nerve-wracking than doing it himself. It was almost a relief when the musketeers started to fall, limbs torn off and heads and bodies stabbed through with serrated legs and sharpened proboscises from the endless, clattering horde. It wasn’t the soldiers’ faults they weren’t good enough: Tarvek’s Smoke-trained reflexes were barely keeping him alive.

The Baron was an expert in a fighting style Tarvek had never been able to identify, but even he started to falter, until a wasp he really should have seen coming scored another long cut from his already-bleeding right shoulder. He sliced the bug in two then staggered, green blood mixing with red on his arm. He’d lost his jacket sleeve at some point. A minute later, he was too slow to avoid a low-slung wasp aiming for his hamstring. He went down to one knee with a yell.

Tarvek grabbed the death ray from his hand and took over defending them both, once more circling at near invisible speeds to guard all sides. The Baron kept going for a while with his sword, but Tarvek barely paid him heed. He knew what was happening to Wulfenbach on a chemical level; visual confirmation was hardly necessary, particularly when surrounded by a swarm of warrior wasps. The solution Violetta had slipped into his coffee two hours ago had permeated his body and was reacting with any wasp and Geister blood it touched to form an entirely new poison, one which prevented blood clotting, sped up his heart, and in general did everything to accelerate death by exsanguination. Tarvek had spent three sleepless nights in the lab perfecting the formulae. He was particularly proud of the way it also slowed neural response time, leaving the victim less able to defend themselves against additional attacks.  The perfect poison to ensure a “noble” death in battle.

It was more than Wulfenbach deserved, the usurper. But it would look good to the people of Europa. No one would question it. And Tarvek stood above him, even when he stopped swinging his sword, and shot every wasp that came near rather than running for the burning ship. This would look good, too: defending a fallen comrade even though they hadn’t gotten along politically. The alliance would be cemented in people’s brains. And nobody would forget that it was the Storm King who had remained standing.

And maybe Klaus Wulfenbach didn’t quite deserve to be torn apart by Lucrezia’s wasps. He had been, at least, a worthy opponent. There was some sort of honor to be scavenged here, and respect due.

But there were also _so_ _many_ wasps, storms curse it. Everywhere Tarvek looked there was grey-white chitin, sometimes splashed with green or red blood like a perverted Christmas story. His arms were tired, he was bleeding from at least seven shallow cuts and what felt like a rather bad stab wound above his left knee (it hadn’t hit any major arteries but it _hurt,_ ) and he didn’t even _remember_ at what point he’d lost his glasses. Stupid stupid _stupid_ way to die. Where the _hell_ were reinforcements? All he saw was another charging set of claws, and another. Was it only in his mind that the light was dimming, or had he been here all day? No, that was insane. Maybe he _should_ break for the ship, if only to get something at his back. Were there even people over there still?

A wasp reared up in front of him and before he could shoot it (point blank, at least; an easy one) there was a blur of movement overhead and something cannoned into the monster, green and furred and shouting with glee “Voohoo, ve found de **fight!** ”

Someone else crashlanded on a wasp to his right, then promptly tore another wasp in half. He had orange skin, pointed ears, and wore a hat half again as tall as his head. “Bogs for dinner, boyz!” He flashed Tarvek a thumbs up and a grin with too many teeth, then dived into the attacking horde fists first.

Oh thank god, jägers.

A third, tri-horned jägermonster held him up for a moment as he sagged in relief and exhaustion. More were descending every second, just plunging into the mass of wasps around the engine and throughout the town. They were virtually indestructible and didn’t bother much with parachutes or ladders.

Only now did it occur to Tarvek to look up and realize that the sunlight had dimmed because it was blocked by a new airship, a giant one, bigger than the town of Fallsen or even a moderately sized city like Mechanicsburg. He didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to see Castle Wulfenbach in his life.

But the jäger at his back was looking down, at the blood-soaked body at their feet. He removed his old aeronauts’ cap and held it to his chest, looking grim. “Hoo boy, Klaus.”

“Sturmvoraus!”

Tarvek turned at the familiar shout in time to see Gil, trailing half a Bug Squad, pause in his stride and take in the sight before him. He looked harried but clean, arrived too late for the battle.

He turned bone-white and sprinted forward. “Father!”

Gil dropped to his knees and felt at the Baron’s wrist and neck, his own hands shaking. Anyone could see from the Baron’s wounds that there wasn’t going to be a pulse.

“I’m sorry,” said Tarvek, and truly meant it.

Gil’s head snapped around and he glared, seemingly without recognition. “ ** _He’s going to be_ _fine_.** ” He sprang to his feet, pants smeared with red and green and silver silver blood. “You and you!” he shouted, pointing at the two nearest soldiers, a jäger and one of the vespers. “Help me carry him. We need to get back to the revivification chamber on the Castle _immediately_.”

Off to the side, the Vespiary Squad expertly exploded the hive engine with lightning guns. Tarvek wiped flying goo away from his stinging forehead. His hand came back bloody as well. He didn’t even remember getting that cut.

“It’s too late. Too many people have seen him. The Fifty Families would never allow it.” Just as planned.

Gil rounded on him, teeth bared. “When has _he or I_ **_ever_** cared what the _Fifty Families_ _think_?”

“Wulfenbach,” Tarvek said warningly, and put a hand on his arm as if to offer comfort. “ _Don’t try it.”_

The young baron tensed as if he’d been hit. Then his shoulders slumped and the madness faded back out of his eyes. He stared down at his father’s still body.

The Storm King took the opportunity to lean on him, just a little, and take the weight off his wounded knee.

It was over.


End file.
